I’ll eat anything, as long as it’s gluten-free,
dairy-free, low-carb, low-fat, low-calorie,
sugar-free, and organic.
n order for you to understand how I became so in-tune with eating properly, I need to tell you about my “chubby” phase. When I was thirteen, my dad sent me to a culinary summer camp in Napa Valley for eight weeks. I had been warned about the dangers of puff pastry and handmade ravioli by my eighth-grade nutritionist, but I went anyway. I don’t know what to say, except I was young, it was summer, and I thought that my skinny little nine-year-old legs would last forever. Reality is life’s cruelest mistress. Needless to say, I came back home looking as oversized as my Louis Vuitton speedy, albeit a Michelin- level chef. It wasn’t until I noticed a muffin top peering over my Abercrombie & Fitch miniskirt that I realized things had gotten completely out of control.
What weighed heavier on my soul than the extra poundage was the fact that the world would see me as a “fat girl.” I could feel society’s disdain for my lack of self-control. I had nightmares about being the kind of person who would be forever described as “having a great face.” I wanted to love myself, but self-acceptance and unwanted body puff don’t mesh well. I had to take control of my physique and get back in shape.
I went into hiding for the last four weeks of summer. I made my dad fire our live-in chef and appointed myself master of the kitchen. I started with a three-day liquid cleanse detox and developed a diet plan for myself that utilized elements of the Zone, Atkins, and Grapefruit Diets, combined with Eastern fasting traditions. It took three weeks to lose the weight, and one additional week for me to learn to love myself again. I mean, what the fuck was I supposed to do? Enter my freshman year of high school looking like a total heifer? Do you know how damaging that would have been to my psyche? Thank God sack dresses were in style, because I practically lived in them during those difficult times.
I’ve since gone to great lengths to destroy all photo evidence of this period of my life and have had countless hypnotherapy sessions with my psychic, Myrta, to try and erase all memories of being overweight. Myrta thinks that I gained weight due to my aura somehow getting crossed with Kirstie Alley’s while Saturn entered my fifth house of fame and fortune. I think Myrta is a genius.
Now I’m obsessed with what goes in my body. Some people (doctors, nutritionists, therapists) have criticized my eating habits, throwing around words like “eating disorder,” “orthorexic,” and “self-flagellation.” Such bullshit. When I say, “No thanks, I’m full,” I truly mean it. I don’t deprive myself-—I have an equally healthy relationship with the food I eat and the food I don’t eat. Plus, look around: everyone in America is fat. So sue me for loving vegetables, sparkling water, and half portions of soup.
Every single thing I put in my mouth must serve a nutritional purpose and also enhance my beauty. That being said, there are some things that I won’t budge on—e.g., dark chocolate. No matter how many health nuts rave about its nutritional qualities, I won’t allow myself to be led right into that trap. First you’re eating one ounce of dark chocolate once a week, and the next thing you know, you’re shoving fistfuls of donut holes down your throat and crying about how you’ll never be as strong or thin as Gwyneth.
I’ve been in charge of the hiring and firing of chefs since becoming a culinary authority at a young age. Due to my ever-changing diet needs and my mercurial palate, the turnover rate for chefs in the Walker household is above average. I am highly selective, and every applicant undergoes a rigorous interview process complete with an extensive background check. Whenever a new person is hired, I always take it upon myself to issue them the list of what foods I will and will not allow to be brought into my home.
Eating at restaurants is something I end up having to do a lot. What? Did you think I stayed home and drank smoothies all day? This is real life, and I have friends and family who like to go to restaurants for meals. For me, dining out is all about dressing for the occasion, experiencing the ambiance, and looking at/smelling the food. I enjoy going out to eat, and I manage to let myself relax my rules here and there when I venture outside of my house. My life is all about balance—yin and yang, etc.—so I like to keep it über health conscious inside the house and then let myself splurge a little when dining out. It’s just the way I live my life. I deserve it.
I’ve found Los Angeles to be the perfect place to dine out while remaining hyper-conscious of your eating habits. There are plenty of raw/macrobiotic/vegan options to choose from. Also, LA has a salad game unlike any city I’ve ever lived in, so no matter where I end up, if worse comes to worst, I can at least get a plate of lettuce with lemon juice on the side.
I like to get very up close and personal with the waitstaff when I dine out. Like all important relationships in my life, it’s all about intimacy and understanding. Whenever a waiter asks to take my order, I’ll take his or her hand in mine and stroke it while softly whispering my order so they’re forced to listen to my requests carefully. This makes them feel special, like we have a deep connection because I’m telling them a secret. Then they do whatever I say. For example:
“Let’s do the Caesar salad, but let’s go with organic butter lettuce instead of the romaine, ahi tuna instead of the grilled chicken, and cherry tomatoes instead of the croutons. Also, balsamic vinegar on the side instead of the Caesar dressing. Oh, and hold the parmesan. Thank you so much.”
“I’ll have six ounces of the grilled chicken breast. It’s not on the menu but trust me, it’s delicious. I’ll make sure to recommend it to all my friends.”
“Can I get the scallion and egg white omelet, and mixed greens with just a hint of truffle oil on the side? And can the omelet be prepared table-side so I can oversee the process? I’m allergic to egg yolk.”
If I’m at a party, I’m there to socialize and have people ask me about the amazing jacket/top/dress/necklace/pants/skirt/ shoes/cape/smock/romper/fur I’m wearing. Or I’m there to drink and do coke with famous people. Or I’m there because Brett Ratner invited me. Any way you cut it, I’m not there to eat. Nothing makes people want to talk to you less than if you’re standing by the hors d’oeuvres table scarfing down every bit of food you can get your hands on like some kind of wildebeest.
On the other hand, if it’s an intimate affair, like a dinner party, it’s rude to avoid eating the food, so I utilize this go-to device: I keep a mental tab of every dish that comes out of the kitchen and make sure to put a little on my plate. Then I push it around, eat whatever is on my “Yes” list, and rave to anyone within earshot about how amazing the food is. Nine times out of ten this works like a charm. No one ever remembers what you actually ate at a dinner party. I can get through the meal without breaking my diet, and the host thinks I am an amazing guest.
I also consider myself a smoothie connoisseur. They’re my culinary calling, if you will, and a great way to pack a shitload of nutrients into an eight-ounce glass. Over the years I’ve perfected my favorite smoothie recipes, and now I’m ready to share them with the world.